Kingslayer
by audreyii-fic
Summary: Within the royal house of Asgard lives the heir Thor Odinson, the ward Loki No-one's-son, and the mortal Jane Fosterdóttir - and love is rarely an antidote for lies. (Steadily darkening Lokane kid!fic; a drabble series that grew without the author's permission. Again.)
1. Chapter 1

**Welp, another AU gets away from Audrey and has to be peeled off from the drabble collection for its own home. Do not listen to the Game of Thrones soundtrack when trying to write kid!fic. Ever.**

**Don't count on regular updates. One must be in a particular sort of mood to write this kind of fuckery. Be ye warned.**

**Standard disclaimer that Thor and Loki's childhood actually took place about two thousand years before Jane's birth. Eat me, canon.**

* * *

The tale is such:

The Queen the Realm Eternal bore the All-Father a single son, Prince Thor. After him there were no more.

And she cried.

There were murmurs that perhaps the realm would be better served if the King put her aside, but any who were found to be speaking such thoughts aloud faced quick and severe retribution.

But shortly thereafter came Loki, a child of origin unknown to the people of Asgard. The All-Father treated him indulgently, allowing him to be raised in the palace and play with his heir, a son and brother in all but name.

The few who could remember said that the previous King would never have permitted such a thing. But then, _his_ wife had not been possessed of an iron will. It was well known that this wife — the sorceress — always got her way in the end, by one method or another.

And the Queen was happier, but still lonely.

Then came the mortal girl.

The orphan to whom even the All-Father, in his great indulgence, refused entry. The orphan who nearly ended the Gatekeeper's watch, for it was he who told the Queen of the girlchild — who possessed no Sight, but has seen all, and will see all again — that _this_ one would play a part, one way or another. The orphan whom the Queen herself retrieved shaking from the wreckage of a mechanical carriage and settled into the royal chambers before the King even knew what was happening.

Nearly all of Asgard heard his fury when his queen's actions were revealed.

He raged that a mortal had no place among the Aesir.

He raged that of all the children of the nine realms, his queen would not, _could_ not choose a Midgardian to sit at the table of kings.

He raged that the girlchild would at _once_ be returned to where she came from, and they would never speak of this folly again.

The Queen said: _I wish for a daughter. And I will have none but her._

So Jane Foster became the second ward of the Palace of Asgard.

And the Queen was content.

* * *

Time is a strange thing, between realms.

Time is stranger when a mortal girl drinks tea that tastes of apple at each meal.

* * *

The day that Sif gains special permission to train with the warriors is the day Jane knows jealousy beyond any she'd felt before.

Maidens aren't supposed to be warriors. That's the rule of the Aesir. But no, there she is, hair shining, sword in hand, learning the same things as everyone else. Maybe some of the others are scoffing, but she is there anyway.

Jane will never, _ever_ be allowed to learn.

Not that she really _wants_ to, but…

So she runs away. She shuts herself in her chambers. She cries.

(She seems to do that a lot lately, and without much warning. Frigga has promised that all these mood swings are just part of becoming a woman, and it will settle soon; if so, Jane can't grow up fast enough.)

It's Loki who uses his magic to unlock her door an hour later. Jane is sure he's disobeyed Frigga to do it — if the Queen had thought she needed consolation instead of privacy, she would have been there herself, stroking Jane's back and murmuring words of comfort.

Loki doesn't have words of comfort. He never does. But he sits on the edge of her bed, studying his hands as she sobs into her pillow.

"I'm not permitted to train, either," he tells her once she's down to sniffles. "But I don't cry."

"Easy for you to say. _You're_ learning magic."

"Only by Frigga's will. And she would teach you as well if you weren't human."

_If you were not human._ She hears that a lot. At least from Loki it's a statement, not an insult.

"We're not like them, you know," he says.

"You are. You're Aesir. You're Loki of Asgard; I'm Jane Foster of Midgard."

"Fosterdóttir," he corrects. "You at least belonged to someone."

Jane frowns. She doesn't like that name; she'll always be Foster.

Midgard is only a faded dream, now, and so is her first family. She can't even remember her mother — whenever she tries it's only Queen Frigga's face she sees, but that's okay, that's the only face she _wants_ to see. Her father, though… there are still little memories. He talked about the stars. He screamed when the car crashed.

She was eight when that happened. She's not sure how old she is now. She's mortal, so she _has_ to be younger than Loki and Thor, but it doesn't seem like it. It doesn't feel like it.

(Thor's just started shaving and chased them around the throne room when they laughed at the dots of blood across his chin. Loki vanished, of course, but Jane was captured, tickled to within an inch of her life, and tossed into the courtyard fountain. Both Loki and Thor had stared when she climbed out sputtering and swearing vengeance, her gown clinging to every inch of her skin. Frigga had caught them and sent everyone to their chambers; the next day she gave Jane her first set of chest bindings.)

Her name, though — her name, she'll keep.

"We're not like them," Loki says again. "Thor will be king one day."

"I know. He'll be a good king."

"Perhaps. But then he'll take Sif for his queen. Who knows what will happen then."

Her eyes widen in fear. "You don't know that!" she cries. "He wouldn't!"

"Of course he will. It's so obvious."

Oh, no. Jane _hates_ Sif. _Sif_ gets to train. Sif's always looking her up and down. When Sif is queen instead of Frigga, Frigga will _have_ to listen to her. She'll be sent away. People are always looking for an excuse to send Jane away. "What will happen to me?"

Loki finally glances over at her, his eyebrows furrowed, like he can't believe she would ask such a stupid question. Unlike Thor, he doesn't need to shave yet. "I'll marry you, of course."

Jane's mouth drops open. "What? No, you won't!"

"Yes, I will," he says simply. "I decided that ages ago. Thor can't; he's going to be king. So I'll do it. They'll never send you back to Midgard then."

Odin likes Loki — a lot more than he likes Jane, anyway — and Thor calls him 'brother' when Odin isn't in earshot. But that doesn't mean Loki has the power to do something like _that_. "Don't be ridiculous. No one would let you."

Loki smiles… and disappears in a shimmer of gold.

"I'd like to see them stop me," she hears behind her.

Jane rolls over in bed. Loki is laying beside her, only two feet away, looking ridiculously smug. "I didn't even feel the mattress move," she exclaims, worries momentarily forgotten.

"I know. It's a new trick. Do you like it?"

"I do," she says — just before bursting into tears again.

Thor will be king. Sif will be queen. Loki knows magic. They _belong_.

Jane doesn't want to be so jealous all the time, but she can't help it. It's this little dark place in her heart, and lately it feels like it keeps getting bigger and bigger, like something rotten eating away from the inside out. "This sucks," she hiccups, a phrase from Midgard she's held on to with determination.

"Oh, no, it won't be so bad," he assures her. "I'll make a much better husband than Thor. He and Sif will do nothing but fight with swords and words. He will drink wine all day and break all her cups. I pity her!"

Jane giggles at the thought. "It's him I feel bad for," she says, wiping her eyes with her fist. "The sun will hit all that golden hair one morning and he'll go blind."

"You don't like Sif's hair?"

"I don't like how she's so proud of it."

Loki smiles. "She ought to be. She has the most beautiful hair in all of Asgard."

Jane scowls and throws a pillow at him. Loki catches it, laughing, and she declares, "I am _not_ marrying you if you like Sif more than you like me."

"I never said I liked her more, only that she has the most beautiful hair in all of Asgard. And you _will_ marry me."

"I will _not_."

"Why? Because Sif has golden hair?"

"Exactly. No. Wait."

"I have changed my mind. You are too absurd to wed."

"I'm not absurd!"

"You are. And you're short."

"I'm going to get taller!"

"You've been saying that for ages. Are you certain Frigga didn't take you from Nidavellir?"

"I am _not_ a dwarf!" Jane sits up and tries to whack Loki with another pillow; he deflects that one just as easily, still laughing. He's so _fast_. All the Aesir are.

And there is the envy again, gnawing, gnawing, gnawing away.

The grin slowly fades from Loki's face as he watches her. "What is it?" he asks.

"Sometimes," Jane whispers — because this is the very darkest thing, and she's not sure she could say it any louder even if she tried, "sometimes I hate them."

Not Frigga. Never Frigga. But everyone else. Sometimes even Thor, just a tiny, eensy little bit. Sometimes even Loki.

But he just nods. "Sometimes I do too," he says, his voice as quiet hers.

Jane's heart lifts a little. She shouldn't have doubted that Loki would understand. Because he's right — he and she aren't like the rest of them. "We can't tell anyone. It has to be our secret." She holds out her hand. "Promise?"

Loki doesn't take it. Instead he sits up on the bed — it creaks as he does, so he's really there — leans forward, and kisses her. Just a little, just for a second, maybe less than a second. Jane barely has time to register the brush of his lips before he pulls away again.

They didn't even close their eyes.

"Our secret," he promises.

She can feel her cheeks turning hot as she nods. A kiss is a much more binding oath than a handshake, probably.

"Jane?"

Jane startles, unbalances, and falls back on the mattress. Loki jumps off the opposite side of the bed and even though he's standing there there's that tiny huff, the vanishing of his breathing that tells her he's gone and switched himself out—

But it doesn't work. Queen Frigga ignores the Loki before her, turns on her heel, and looks at the doorway she's just entered. "Stop," she commands.

It is not possible to disobey that tone of voice. The illusion at Jane's bedside vanishes, and the real Loki appears in the hall. She realizes that he'd been magicking over his own blush.

"To your rooms, Loki," Frigga says. "The two of you are entirely too old to be playing in each other's chambers. Also—" here there is the tiniest hint of a smile "—have you forgotten how to conceal your footsteps?"

Loki's blush deepens.

When they are alone, Jane braces herself for a lecture. She's not exactly sure what she's done wrong — aside from the vague feeling that Frigga might not like it that she and Loki kissed — but there's that _chastise-y_ feeling in the air.

But Frigga only comes to sit beside her and touch her cheek gently. "Tell me what troubles you, dear one," she says. "Did Loki upset you?"

"No." Unsettled, yes, but not upset. In fact, Jane might not have minded if he gave her another secret, maybe even two.

It's obvious Frigga doesn't believe her. "Our Loki," she says, as much love in her voice as when she talks about Thor, "is very, very clever — but not _quite_ as clever as he thinks he is. If he's been spinning tales for you, I advise you put them from your mind. Now, what else would cause such a look upon your pretty face?"

There are so many things — and so few she can share — that Jane has difficulty forming them into one thought. "Sif gets to train and I don't," she says finally.

"Ah. I see. And have you developed an interest in the sword, Jane Fosterdóttir?"

"Well, no, but it's… it's not…" Oh, she _is_ absurd, just like Loki said. Absurd and short. "It's not fair."

"I felt similarly, when I was your age." Jane looks up, and Frigga smiles. "I had aspirations to be a great champion as well, dear one. The first warrior maiden. It was not meant to be — but even now, all these centuries later, I cannot help but watch Sif with a twinge of envy."

"You know magic, though."

"I do." Queen Frigga's smile grows. "But that is not my only talent. Perhaps it is time you learnt a few tricks of your own, Jane Fosterdóttir."

* * *

The next day Frigga takes Jane to a quiet corner of the palace and presses a slim silver dagger into her hand. "You need not be large, nor strong, nor immortal for the art of the knife," she tells Jane. "You need only be _close."_

Jane trains until she can barely lift her arms.

On the way back to her chambers, almost too sore to walk and happier than she's been in ages, Jane hears a great commotion. And a moment later there is Loki, dashing through the corridor as though his feet are on fire, being pursued by a girl with weapon in hand.

It's Sif.

Her hair is so dark it's almost black.

_"Loki!"_ Sif shrieks, raising her double-bladed sword. _"Loki, you gutter rat, come back here and fix it!"_

Jane knows perfectly well that if Sif's chasing Loki, Loki's not being chased. She spins on her heel — and yes, there, on the far side of the hall and hiding behind a column, is the real Loki.

He raises a finger to his lips. _Shhh._ Then he grins.

Jane grins back.

Maybe she'll marry him after all.

She just has to get taller first.


	2. Chapter 2

**The lesson here is not listen to soundtracks that reek of foreshadowing, or Macbeth-esque fanvids, when trying to write something light. I'm sorry.**

* * *

The tale is such:

The great All-Father sired a child of Asgard. This child would be a king.

He took in a child of Jotunheim. This child would also be a king.

He permitted a child of Midgard. This child would be nothing.

And so they grew, unequal.

* * *

Loki remembers the moment he decided he would marry Jane Fosterdóttir.

She had been there for some time, long enough that he and Thor had grown accustomed to their third playmate and her strange Midgardian ways, long enough that it seemed as though it had always been the three of them, not merely the two. But that afternoon Jane had been with Frigga, off doing female something-or-others, and he and Thor had been getting into mischief in the throne room when they overheard the approaching courtiers.

They had hidden the vase they had 'accidentally' broken, then hidden themselves as well.

They heard the courtiers clucking over when the King would "end Frigga's folly" and send the "mortal pet" away.

Only Loki's hand on Thor's wrist stopped him from drawing his sword. (Later, he would wonder why he stayed his foster brother's rage, and could come up with no explanation except habit.) They had remained silent, ice-white and blood-red respectively, until the courtiers turned a corner and disappeared from the room.

"When I am king," Thor swore when they were gone, "people who say such things will be banished to the farthest corner of the Nine Realms."

Loki had not disagreed, but knew Thor could be gray in the beard before Odin declared him ready for kingship. Far too long a wait to guarantee Jane Fosterdóttir's protection.

Rational analysis always came easily to Loki. While Thor could puzzle for hours over a problem — and usually try to smash his way out of it — Loki could always find the simplest solutions. And he found the simplest solution then.

If Jane Fosterdóttir wed one of them, no one could send her away.

Thor would never be allowed, of course. Thor was to be king, and his wife would be queen. But Loki? Those who whispered _mortal pet_ called him _Loki No-one's-son_ when they imagined he could not hear. What mattered it if No-one's-son took a mortal to wife?

Loki had explained the plan to Thor. Thor had agreed it was a very good idea. And, thus settled, they returned to failing to repair the broken vase, and little of it was ever spoken again.

* * *

The day came that the All-Father told his Queen: _They grow over-reliant on the mortal. You will separate her from them._

_I will do no such thing, my husband._

_I do not speak as your husband. I speak as your King. And you will do as I command._

* * *

One day, Jane asks Heimdall how old she is. "If I weren't drinking the tea, I mean," she adds. "How old would they think I am on Midgard?"

"You are not yet grown, Lady Jane," he replies, because he knows what she's really asking. He always knows.

(He's the only one who calls her Lady Jane. He lets her sit by his feet for hours, joining him on his eternal watch, speaking only when she asks a specific question about a flare within the Bifrost that she cannot puzzle out. Otherwise he is silent, and she is silent, and they watch the stars together. If Heimdall ordered her to leap from the Rainbow Bridge she would ask only if he wanted her to take off her shoes first.)

"Would they think I'm a child?"

"They would not think you a woman."

"How come?"

"Because you are not one, Lady Jane. Not yet."

_Not yet._ Jane huffs in disapproval. She hasn't outgrown a gown in ages. What more does anyone want?

She is still lying on her back on the bridge, studying the stars and pondering this injustice, when her handmaid Dagmar arrives. "The Queen requests your presence, Jane Fosterdóttir," says Dagmar, her eyes respectfully lowered before the Gatekeeper.

Jane spares a short glance for the plain, unassuming girl, then climbs to her feet. "It would not do to keep my foster mother waiting," she says grandly. "Fetch my horse, Dagmar."

If Dagmar's lips twitch for the faintest moment, certainly no one would ever remark upon it.

Jane is saddled and turning the reins when Heimdall says: "The King sits in his council chamber this day."

From the council chamber one has a clear view of the northside palace entrance. "Thank you, Heimdall," says Jane. _He knows_, she thinks (for the hundredth time) and wonders (for the hundredth time) what he would say if Odin came to him with a question.

And she tells herself (for the hundredth time) that Heimdall would never lie to the All-Father.

They just have to be sure Odin never asks.

* * *

_And will you command Thor and Loki as well,_ my King_? They love her as you do not. Take her away and you may discover their power is greater than you realize… as is mine._

_I will not hear challenges from you, wife, and I do not fear stripling boys who think themselves men. If you care for the girl, you will do her this service. She will never rise above what she is. Our son cannot make her his queen._

_That is of little consequence. Thor holds her as he would a sister. There is no harm._

_And our ward?_ His _hold is not that of a sibling._

To this, the Queen could issue no denial.

* * *

Her handmaid waits until they reach the royals stables before she says: "'Fetch my horse, Dagmar'?"

"Well, you _are_ my maid."

"And you've grown overly fond of ordering me about." Jane creeps down the line of stalls, checking inside each one, and Dagmar adds, "There's no need. I would know were we not alone."

"You said that last time, and Volstagg almost stepped on my skirts before you saw him."

"Oh, I knew he was there. That just made it more fun."

"Servants who have fun need more chores. I think I'll make you scrub my floor next. And hem my dresses. What do you think of _that_?"

"I think I'd sooner stop coming to you entirely."

"You wouldn't." When Dagmar continues unsaddling their mounts, seemingly focused only on her tasks, Jane swallows back a sudden wash of sickness. Anxiety has coursed under her skin since the moment she was told she could no longer spend time with her foster brothers. "You _wouldn't_, right?"

Dagmar doesn't reply, and Jane comes within inches of taking it all back… until she catches the tiniest crinkle at the corner of the handmaid's eye.

And Jane's fright turns to rage in an instant. _"Don't tease me like that!"_ The moment her fist makes contact with her handmaid's arm, 'Dagmar' washes away with a shimmer of gold; it is a boy with black hair and a wide white grin who takes the next hit. "You're not funny, Loki! You're _never_ funny! You're just _mean!_"

"If you wish me to treat you kindly," says Loki, all smooth and reasonable, "perhaps you shouldn't strike me." He doesn't even pretend like her punches hurt.

Jane tries to shove him — she's not strong, but seasons upon seasons of Frigga's knife training have at least made her fast — but her hands pass right through his shoulders. There's another shimmer, and then cool arms wrap around her from behind and toss her into the hay as though she weighs no more than a sack of flour. The puff of dust catches in her throat.

Loki watches her cough, smirking. "Are you ever _not_ going to fall for that?" he says.

He makes her so mad sometimes. "Fine," she spits, rolling onto her side and refusing to look at him. "Don't come see me anymore. I wouldn't miss you at all."

It's a lie, of course it is, they both know it. Still, Loki flops down into the straw and pulls her close, until she is tucked snugly against him, her back pressed against his chest. "You are absurd, Jane Fosterdóttir," he murmurs, resting his chin against the top of her head. "And getting shorter, I think."

"You're just stupidly tall." She should elbow him in the ribs, she really should. But she likes it when he holds her like this. Even when he's being awful. "I don't like it when you tease me."

"Yes, you do. But I'll consider apologizing." When she doesn't respond, he kisses her hair. "Jane?"

She ignores him.

"Ah. You _are_ angry. Don't be; it was just a bit of fun."

She ignores him.

"Very well. I'm sorry."

She ignores him.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice strained now. He kisses her temple. Her cheek. He tries for her nose, but she turns her face away, and his lips brush across her ear instead. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

Loki might be of Asgard, but he's more like her than They are. (Everyone else is _They_.) Loki is _less-than_, the way she is. They don't belong to anyone except each other. They don't own anything except each other.

So he can be mean as he likes, but she can hurt him right back. The only time he ever gets really upset is when she pretends like he's not there.

Sometimes she pretends just so she can see his reaction.

It's the only real power she has in all the worlds.

But she can never stay angry for long, especially not when he tilts her chin so he can nuzzle the side of her neck, which makes her shiver and giggle at the same time. "You can be such a jerk," she tells him. (_Jerk_ is one of the words she's kept from her old home. There's just not a good equivalent here.) "If you do that again, I'll tell Odin I want to go back to Midgard. Then you'll be sorry."

"You are _beyond_ absurd." He sighs as she squirms deeper into his embrace. "As though I would ever allow you to leave."

* * *

_His destiny is to rule Jotunheim. One day he will learn of it. The girl would perish upon a Frost Giant's throne_.

_Would you rather he care for no one at all?_

_The way they care will lead to ruin, however you may wish to pretend otherwise._

_I pretend nothing. But I would not break his heart, nor hers, nor our son's, for the sake of a future that may never come to pass._

_And that is why_ I _am King._

* * *

Jane Fosterdóttir and Dagmar enter the palace (through the southern doors) some time later. After bypassing the guards, Jane asks quietly: "How is Thor?"

"Oh, still raging about wresting Gungnir from his father's hand and declaring you an official Princess of Asgard," says Dagmar. "Odin has threatened to confine him to the dungeons until he learns respect."

"I miss him." Thor has friends; Thor has family; Thor will be a king. Thor is one of Them. But Jane loves him all the same, and misses him _almost_ as much as she would have missed Loki… had Loki obeyed Odin's edict for as much as an hour.

(It was a new handmaid who came after Frigga told Jane of the rules; it was a new handmaid who sat upon her bed, watched her sob, told her to stop being ridiculous, it was a new handmaid who kissed her softly as Jane blinked in shock. The illusion broke at the contact and Loki pulled away, preening at his own cleverness — and it was Jane who launched herself into his arms and returned those kisses until they were both breathless and disheveled. She would not have done so with Thor.)

"Can't you play a trick and bring him to me?"

"I would, were Thor capable of keeping a secret. Sif would know within the day. Then she would tell Fandral, Fandral would tell Volstagg, and Volstagg would tell the entire realm. It's too risky."

There is no one more _Them_ than Thor's chosen companions. "I hate Sif," she grumbles.

"She's not overly fond of you, either."

"If Thor marries her you should poison the wedding feast." After a moment, she adds, "Just enough to make them sick the next day, I mean."

"I can do that," says Dagmar. Her voice is softer than their steps on the marble stone.

This is all getting uncomfortably serious. "I don't see why it's happening," she says, changing the subject. "With you, anyway. Thor is a prince, and princes aren't supposed to have mortal friends, but what difference does it make if I see you?"

"I asked Odin the same. He said those who are born to be kings must act as them long before they take the throne."

"But… that doesn't make sense. There can only be one king of Asgard, and that's Thor."

"I know. It's a metaphor, or a test of some sort. Odin loves his riddles."

"Right." Jane fights down a creeping sense of dread with a nervous laugh. "It's dumb, anyway. What would you even do if you were king?"

"I wonder." Dagmar's dull brown eyes flash green as she stops by the door to Frigga's chambers. "What if you were my queen, Jane Fosterdóttir of Midgard? What would _you_ do?"

Jane opens her mouth to offer something dismissive… and then the ugly thing — the dark, rotten thing that crawls from that gnawing hole inside, the one that whispers _They_ have no right to shut her away, no right to look down at her just because she is human and short, no right to say _mortal pet_ and _No-one's-son_ — the ugly thing curls around her neck and begins to squeeze.

"I would make Them sorry," she hears herself say.

And Dagmar smiles. "So would I."

* * *

_I will not order her return to Midgard; I would not see you waste away from grief. But I have not done all I have to see the peace of the Nine Realms weakened by a mere mortal. If you do not end the girl's connection to them, my Queen, I will cast her out and beyond the reach of all._

_And so the All-Father commanded._

_And so the Queen acquiesed._

_And so the children did not obey._

* * *

"Frigga?" says Jane, setting down her fork. She takes so many of her meals alone with the Queen these days.

"Yes, dear one?"

"What's going to happen to me?"

She wants an answer. She _needs_ an answer.

But the Queen only smiles, sadly, and waves her hand. Jane feels the prickle of magic across the side of her neck — then blushes as she realizes what Frigga is concealing. Loki has _got_ to stop doing that.

"You must be careful, Jane Fosterdóttir," is all the Queen says. "For these are uncertain times."


	3. Chapter 3

**Once again I would like to warn the world as a whole of the dangers of writing kid!fic while listening to the Game of Thrones soundtrack, for no good will come of it.**

* * *

Jane falls asleep outside Loki's door every night, but when she wakes she is always in her own bed.

It doesn't matter. Every morning she comes back. She talks through the door. She shouts at it, insults it; once she cries. She threatens to go to Earth and never return. She threatens to stop drinking the Idunn tea. She threatens to marry someone else and never speak to him again.

There is never an answer.

One night she rouses as she's taken back to her rooms; she's much too old for it, but she's being carried like a child, arms hooked under her knees and shoulders, cheek resting against a man's chest. A beard tickles the crown of her head.

She asks why. She doesn't even know which why she means. There are too many.

"Because a King," says Odin, without looking down, "cannot speak from the heart."

When he lays her in bed, he pulls the covers up to her chin. "I was cruel not to return you to Midgard the moment you arrived," he says softly. "You do not belong here, child. You never will."

She hears those words forever.

* * *

_The Vault was one of the few places Jane doesn't feel slighted by being banned from. The relics of Asgard were kept under lock and key with guards posted at all times; only a few people in the entire realm had ever been inside, and never without Odin's presence at their side._

_Of_ course_ Loki thought it would be fun to sneak in._

_And Jane would have objected, had Thor not been an integral of the plan. She hadn't seen Thor in ages. If violating fifty or sixty laws by wandering around a creepy old crypt of dangerous and highly-forbidden trinkets meant Loki would help her spend time with her foster brother, than she could live with that. So Thor became Odin (an easy trick for Loki to play, the son sounded so much like the father), and the guards stepped aside for their King while Loki and Jane slipped in invisible and unnoticed behind him. _

_The moment the doors closed, the illusion dropped, and Thor swung Jane around in his arms and announced that Loki was right: she was, in fact, getting shorter. _

_Then he insisted on carrying her piggy-back as he did when they were small — even easier now that Thor was well over a foot taller — and she held on tight while they explored, Thor teasing, Jane giggling, Loki showing off. The way it used to be. The way Jane thought it always would be, before they grew up and everyone told them it had to change._

_It was the best time she had had in decades._

* * *

Finally, his chamber opens — to _Frigga_. Jane tries to follow on her foster-mother's footsteps, but the door swings shut before she can so much as sneak a toe over the threshold.

She paces, waiting, all through the afternoon. When the Queen finally emerges, she only pats Jane's hair for a moment and shakes her head. "No, dear one," she says gently. "No."

The next day Thor shows up and swears he will shatter the walls with a single blow if Loki doesn't speak to him.

Again, the chamber opens. Again, Jane tries to slip inside. Again, the door slams in Jane's face.

This visit is shorter than the Queen's, but still goes on for more than an hour. And when Thor comes out his hug lifts her off the ground, and he swears that the All-Father will not be able to part them again, that he will lift Mjolnir at last and shatter the Rainbow Bridge if there is talk of returning her to Midgard.

But he doesn't tell her anything about Loki.

She pulls out her daggers and uses the door for target practice. Even with a half-healed arm she can hit the dead center from thirty feet every time.

No one responds.

* * *

_Most of the displays were full, but the few conspicuously empty spaces implied great and terrible tales. When asked, Loki and Thor spun stories that Jane was pretty sure were more than half made up, but some she would discreetly ask Heimdall about later. (If there was really an infinity stone hidden somewhere on Midgard, he'd know.)_

_They stopped for Mjolnir. For all she'd heard about it, Jane didn't think it looked that impressive; it was just a big stone hammer. But Thor looked at the weapon so longingly that Jane asked him to tell her how it was forged, even though she'd heard it before; the hundredth time he spoke of the dwarven blacksmiths and their dying star was just as exciting as the first. On _this_ he could be as eloquent as Loki._

_They were so caught up in the drama — his telling, her listening — that Jane didn't notice Loki had wandered away until she saw the flare of blue in the corner of her eye._

* * *

It doesn't make _sense_. Everything is supposed to make sense, everything, even when she hates it, and Loki not wanting to see her is a violation of everything she has ever known.

Finally she goes to Heimdall. He can see a single drop of dew fall from a blade of grass a thousand worlds away. Surely Loki's rooms are no challenge.

His refusal is gentle, but absolute.

She demands to know what the _point_ of it all is. The Bifrost and the stars, Midgard and Asgard, she and Loki. Existential _whys_ have never much eaten at her before, but all the natural laws of the universe have been subverted and she cannot find her footing. If there are answers, Heimdall will have them. Heimdall always has them.

And then he tells her the truth. "It was I who saw you, Lady Jane, the day your parents died. Our Queen was lonely and wished for a daughter. I showed you to her and told her you must be that child."

Why?

"Across the fields of eternity, most will live and die quietly, as is their right and pleasure. But there are a few who will alter the course of many. Some will change everything. I cannot know the future… but I _can_ see who burns bright."

That's not an answer.

"You will shake the branches of Yggdrasil, Lady Jane. For good or ill, I know not. But you will play a part — and that is what I told the Queen the day you arrived."

So that's all I've ever been? A _part?_

"No. You are loved, Lady Jane. It does not take a Gatekeeper to see that."

* * *

_Jane had heard the history, of course; _everyone_ knew about the Casket of Ancient Winters and the great war that brought it to Asgard. Even a mortal like her._

Don't wander off or the Frost Giants will get you.

_Thor tells the story again anyway. The Jotuns were about two feet taller than usual in this version, and the descriptions of how their bladed arms of ice severed the heads of Aesir and mortal warrior alike were even more lurid that usual, but the way the dancing light of the Casket cast long shadows through the hall made Jane shiver. _

Finish your supper or the Frost Giants will come.

_Children's stories. Monsters under the bed. History made into mythology. Nothing to worry about._

_And Loki stood silent and stared._

_The longer he stared, the brighter the casket seemed to glow._

_Eventually Thor ran out of hyperbole and tried to move on. But Loki just stepped closer, right up to the pedestal, and asked if they could hear it. The casket. Didn't they hear it?_

_No. Neither Thor nor Jane heard it._

* * *

"They didn't even want me for _me_, Loki," Jane says to the door. It is deep into the night, but this time she can't sleep. "They took me for a _purpose_ and no one even knows what it is."

There's no reply. She doesn't know how long she's been waiting in this hallway. Maybe it's been months. Time is so strange here.

"I hate them." She leans her forehead against the dagger-scarred wood and closes her eyes. "They lied to me. I hate them all. Don't leave me out here with them."

She almost doesn't hear the soft click of the lock releasing. But this time, when she tries the brass handle, the knob turns.

Jane slips in before he can change his mind and slams the door shut behind her. "I don't care," she announces. (But this doesn't change the fact that she's filled with relief at the fact that his skin is once again pale and his eyes are once again green; she doesn't know what she would have done otherwise.) "I don't care that you're a Frost Giant, Loki." (She'll _make_ herself not care.)

"I have a name," he says, like _Loki_ wasn't a good enough name all these years.

"I don't care about that, either."

"_I_ do. I am Laufeyson."

It takes Jane a long moment to understand what that means, but when she does, only placing a hand against the wall stops her from sinking to the ground. "_King_ Laufey?"

He nods.

It all clicks into place.

Loki is a prince. Loki will be King of Jotunheim. It is _Loki_ who will be sent away from Asgard. They'll turn him back into a Frost Giant so that if he touches her he'll freeze her skin from her bones and then they'll send him away and she'll be all alone with _Them_.

No. No, no, no. "Do you even want to be a king?" she demands, crossing the room towards him, deliberately ignoring the way he studies his hands instead of her.

"It is my birthright."

"That's not the same thing."

"You were born to be a mortal," Loki says, and it's not nice the way he says it. He doesn't say _mortal_ that way to her. "We are what we are, Jane Fosterdóttir."

"We're not like them. You said so yourself."

"But we're not like each other, either."

And it feels like the dark thing in her chest has swallowed her whole. "I hate them," she says again, with every ounce of envy, pain, and _injustice_ in her being. Heimdall, Frigga, even Thor; they are _Them_. She should never have trusted them. Loki is the one thing that is _hers_, and they're trying to take him away. "They lied to us. We don't need them."

Loki's eyes flash in the torchlight. "What _do_ we need?"

To not be part of someone else's plan.

To make their _own_ plans.

To hear Them apologize for their lies.

To hear Them beg forgiveness.

To be equal.

To be more than equal.

And to have the power to make it all happen.

"Each other," she says aloud.

Loki steps forward and she flinches in spite of herself. She's mortal, and no matter how many times her hand is slathered ointment, it's going to take years to fully heal from what would be gone in weeks for an Asgardian.

But when he kisses her, the only burning she feels is pleasure.

The torches gutter out, they fall into his bed, and the shimmer of the doors magically sealing shut is the end of their light.

* * *

_Jane screamed when Loki's skin changed. She couldn't help it. Thor's story about the war had been too gruesome._

_And the second the echo died, Thor began to laugh and congratulated Loki on such a exact likeness. He looked just like a Frost Giant — a little small, but otherwise perfect. Even the eyes. His best trick yet._

_Fury and embarrassment made Jane stride forward and yell at Loki for playing jokes on her. If she hadn't been so flustered she might have noticed the chill in the air, something even Loki couldn't fake. Or the way he was staring at his own fingers. Or the way he didn't speak. Loki not speaking should have been the biggest hint. Loki always had the last word._

_She grabbed his forearm to break the illusion._

_Jane woke up in the healing room, and everything had changed all over again._

* * *

"You were born to be a king," says Jane afterwards, staring up at the ceiling and thinking of Heimdall's words. _You will shake the branches of Yggdrasil_. "Who says it has to be of Jotunheim?"

Loki is silent for a long time… but then, in the darkness, a grin spreads across his face unlike any she's ever seen. "I will never shut you out again," he vows.

Good.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N**: I cannot sufficiently emphasize how important it is to not listen to the Game of Thrones soundtrack when writing kid!fic. It just ends badly._

_Forgive my lapses in style, here. First time writing in months. (Stupid new job.)_

* * *

There comes the day — the long-awaited day — wherein the All-Father calls his only son before his throne and says _It is time._ Mjolnir sits on a pedestal at the throne's side. _Gather your friends. Return when you are worthy._

_I will, Father. Before you realize I am gone._

_We will see._

* * *

"Get out."

"Jane."

"Don't 'Jane' me." She throws her pillow at Loki's head; he bats it aside without a glance. "I didn't say you could come in. This is _my_ room."

(It is very nearly his; she cannot recall the last time he slept elsewhere.)

"This is how you want to leave it?" The smile that curves his thin lips doesn't touch his eyes. He is angry with her. Good. "Who knows when we will next see each other."

"And whose fault is _that?_"

"Thor's."

"_Don't lie!_"

These words stop Loki in his tracks, turn him very still. As Jane knew they would. The rest of Them do not deserve truth — They are cheats, They are deceivers, They are _false_ — but she and he do not lie to each other. To the rest of the realms. But not each other.

And he is lying to her right now. "You're the one who told Thor not to bring me," says Jane. "I know you are."

"He would have realized the truth in time anyway."

"But you could have talked him out of it. You can talk Thor out of _anything_."

"Perhaps," says Loki. "But I do not wish to. Not this time."

The injustice burns so brightly that Jane feels she might catch fire. "Sif—" she spits the name "—is going. Volstagg is going. Hogun is going. Even Fandral is going. You can't tell me I'm more useless than _Fandral_."

(It's not fair; she knows that even as she says it. Fandral is a cunning warrior. But why should she be fair? No one is fair to _her_.)

Loki moves to stand before her; she refuses to look higher than his leather-clad knees. A hint of blue threading glimmers in the black. (No one was told, but everyone knows. Those who whispered _No-one's-son_ barely dare to breathe _Laufeyson_ in its place. They slide away from him in the halls. She and he don't talk about it.) "And what," he says impatiently, "is the difference between you and them?"

She grits her teeth and does not reply.

An ungentle hand on her shoulder, then she is flat on her back as he hovers over her. "Here." Loki taps the curve of her ribcage, just under her arm. "You remember when Volstagg was struck in the training yard. The sword cut him _here_. Three inches deep. How long did it take him to heal?"

"Four days," she mutters.

"And _here_." He grabs her thigh, his touch cold through her nightgown. "Hogun took a mace _here_ on Vanaheim that shattered the bone. How long before he walked?"

"A week. I can throw a knife better than _any_ of you—"

"How many beatings has Thor taken in the training yard? And Fandral, and Sif? And I? Hundreds? Thousands?"

Jane scowls. "You sound like Odin."

It was a low blow, but after a pause, Loki's tone remains even. "Here." His weight presses her into the mattress; his lips touch her collarbone. "Here, when you tried to race Thor and I across the palace and fell down the staircase. How long before you healed?"

"I don't remember," she lies. (He lied to her.)

"Really? _I_ do." Another brush of his mouth, his hand traveling higher on her thigh, and Jane suppresses a shiver. "Two months. For nothing more than a crack. You are _mortal_, Jane, and you _cannot come with us_."

* * *

The Prince of Asgard's first choice is instant. _If I could pick a three dozen companions, Loki would be among them; if I could have but one, it would be him._

Loki kneels and declares himself honored. The All-Father nods in approval. (Kings that will rule in unison; brothers in all but name. What he has planned since he found a squalling blue babe on a Jotunheim rock.)

Later, though: _I ought to have consulted you first, my friend. You need not feel obligated._

_I cannot let you flail blindly through the biggest quest of your life alone._

_Not alone; Sif and the Warriors Three will stand at my side. If you wish to stay—_

_And why would I wish that?_

_I am not a fool, Loki. There are things you may hide from others which you cannot hide from me. I will miss Jane dearly, but you… _A pause. _Perhaps if she were to come along—_

_You overestimate my dependency. A quest across worlds, finding ways for you to prove yourself worthy of the greatest weapon in the nine realms? I'll be far too occupied to miss her._

_And Jane?_

_Oh, she'd find it all terribly dull._

* * *

Every time they are together — how many now? Hundreds, surely — Jane has to fight from dissolving into giddy giggles. They must have invented it, the two of them. It cannot be so for the rest of the worlds. All that stops she and Loki is the farce of obeying Odin's command to remain apart; what of those who are free to meet whenever they wish? They can't feel like this. No one would ever get anything _done_.

But not even heady pleasure can assuage Jane's frustration. Idunn's apples lengthen her life; they do not make her Aesir. She is always going to be weak, less-than, a curiosity meant to fulfill a vision, the _mortal pet_.

(She cannot survive on Jotunheim.)

Loki traces idle paths up and down her arm; his chest rises and falls under her cheek. "Why do you not ask me to stay?"

"You'd say no."

"You could still ask."

"Well, I won't. Someone has to make sure Thor is okay. Someone other than Sif and the Warriors Three." They may _seem_ devoted, yes, but They are still They, and no one who is They can be trusted. And Jane still hates Sif. She thinks she always will.

"I see." His fingertips press harder; a nasty tone enters his voice. "Thor's safety matters more to you than my presence."

For a brief, cold moment, Jane imagines the dagger beneath her pillow in her hand. "Don't twist my words like that. _You're_ the one who doesn't mind leaving _me_." He snorts, and she adds: "Don't make Thor the bad guy, either. He's your best friend." (Thor is the only one who never lied to them. Thor didn't know.) "Why even go, if not to watch his back?"

"I have my reasons."

Jane raises herself up on her elbow. Loki's smirk — the shape of it, the turn, the way his eyes crinkle — looks exactly like she knew it would. She knows his face better than her own. "Don't lie to me again," she warns.

"I'm not lying," he replies innocently. "I'm simply… not sharing."

"Tell me."

"No."

"_Tell me._"

"No."

She kisses him. Fiercely. Distractingly. He is not the only one who can make a point with actions instead of words. But it does no good.

In the morning they all ride to the end of the Bifrost, glorious warriors off for glorious adventure, leaving Jane behind.

* * *

Heimdall no longer watches Lady Jane. Not since the day he told her of how she came to Asgard. She has not trusted him since, and he would not force his Sight upon her. (Sometimes she shines too brightly to ignore, though, flashing in the corner of his vision like a supernova. Much hinges on this mortal.) The child who came and sat at his feet for hours is dead and gone.

But the girl in her place — colder and harder — returns to him in the weeks after the Prince's questers depart. Rarely speaking, she begins her own watch.

Heimdall is not sorry for the company.

_How long have I been gone from Midgard?_ she asks one day.

_Long enough to be born and die three times over; long enough for a single leaf to wither and fall._

_That doesn't make sense._

_Time obeys few laws between realms, Lady Jane._

_How old am I?_

_A young woman by many measures. A child by many more._

_I thought you might say something like that. Can you see them?_

_I can._

She is silent; she does not ask the question in her heart. Heimdall answers it nevertheless. _He longs for you, Lady Jane._

_Who does? I don't know what you're talking about._

And this is what marks her as a child.

(Heimdall does not tell her how Loki Laufeyson has begun to vanish from his Sight. Of this, he speaks to no one.)

* * *

Jane thinks it may be boredom that ends her years.

She has never really noticed before, but as time drags on, it becomes clear that she has no friends. There has only ever been Thor and Loki, Frigga and Heimdall. Even if she _wanted_ new acquaintances, she cannot make them; she is the _mortal pet_. No one cares.

(She does not need Them to care. Once Loki returns, neither of them will need anything at all.)

Some days she throws her knives in the courtyard until she thinks her arms might fall off. If she were not human, Midgardian, mortal, she would train for days without tiring. She would not have been left behind because it takes her longer to recover from a fractured collarbone than it takes Hogun to recover from a shattered femur.

With more power she would do whatever she liked, go wherever she liked (Jotunheim), be with whomever she liked. No one would stop her.

No one would dare.

If Idunn's apples can't help her, maybe something else can.

Jane leaves the courtyard and turns to the library instead.

* * *

_I understand, child_, Frigga tells the girl who is her daughter. She comes to her every day; she will not see her languish in loneliness. _I miss them as well._

Unsurprisingly, Jane Fosterdóttir bristles with (pain) indignation. _You_ don't _understand_.

(But she does. They are not so circumspect as they think; some of Loki's concealment spells have been shored up by Frigga herself. It is now, too late, that she sees the glimmer of truth in Odin's high-handedness: they love each other, and in doing so shut out the worlds.)

Frigga has been a mother for many years; instead of speaking further, she waits.

Her patience is rewarded.

_They should have taken me._

_They could not._

_Because I'm just a mortal._

_You are _just _nothing, Jane Fosterdóttir._

_Oh, right. I forgot. I'm also a _project_ that you and Heimdall pulled from another world. Watching me until I _play my part. _Like Loki. We're just… just… _things _to you and Odin and everyone else. You should lock us both down in the vault with the other relics._

_You have grown as talented as Loki at twisting words, dear one._

_Don't call me that! You're not my mother! I had a mother, and a father, and you should have just left me to die on Earth with them! What good is a human here on Asgard, anyway?_

_Much good, Jane. You will see it in time._

* * *

It took her so long — weeks, months, years, who can tell, Jane certainly can't — to get used to sleeping alone.

But that flies out the window the moment her bed shifts with another's weight. By the time Loki's arm is wrapped around her waist and her head is tucked under his chin, all of her adjustments have been forgotten.

"Took you long enough," she mumbles.

"Far too long," he agrees. "_Far_ too long. I wish you had told me to stay."

"You're a jerk and you wouldn't have listened."

"So you haven't forgiven me yet."

"No." She will yell at him again in the morning. "Is Thor okay?"

"He is. Our mission was a success; he lifted Mjolnir not ten minutes ago."

"Did anyone die?"

"Unfortunately not. I suspect there will be a feast tomorrow. Volstagg may even stop complaining about being hungry."

"I guess it was all worth it, then."

"Indeed. Not for _that_, of course. For other reasons." His lips brush her temple. "I've discovered a few things that might interest you, as a matter of fact."

"Really."

"Oh, yes. There are pathways between worlds that do not require the Bifrost to cross. Even Heimdall is blind to them. There is—" he pulls her closer, breath stirring her hair "—a great deal of… _potential_ in that."

Excitement is beginning to wake her. A curling, feeding, black kind of excitement.

"And how have you been whiling away my absence, Jane Fosterdóttir?"

"Watching. Training. And then reading." Jane smiles against Loki's skin. "Tell me— have you ever heard of the Infinity Stones?"


End file.
